


Permanent Marks

by afrikate



Series: Thayer Street [17]
Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrikate/pseuds/afrikate





	Permanent Marks

When JC opened the door to the scrabbling at the lock, Justin was the worst sight he'd ever seen in real life. He stumbled in, unspeaking, and JC was afraid to touch him. His skin had faded to yellow and was stretched tight over the bones of his skull. There were bruises shading his left eye, which was swollen closed, and his lips were puffy. He stood in the living room, silent and lost maybe, though JC thought he'd never seen him look anything other than totally aware of his place. 

Lauren's voice asked who was at the door, and Justin whirled, hands out, and nearly fell, overbalanced. JC caught him while Joey stared and then grabbed and helped lower him to the sofa. When JC looked up, Lauren's eyes were big and Joey's were narrowed. Joey's turn to the kitchen was abrupt, and the pans began to rattle.  


* * *

Joey's mom's automatic reaction to any tragedy or trauma was to turn to the kitchen. She was Italian, and no problem could not be fixed with food. Joey was very much his mother's son. He put a pot of water on to boil and pulled out the sauce left over from last night, a beef-tomato marinara, hearty and filling. Justin, he thought, ignoring a tightness at the back of his throat, looked hungry. 

If he'd let himself think more, he might have said that Justin looked exhausted, beaten, defeated, that he needed food less than he needed warmth and comfort and love. Joey didn't let himself think that, though, just salted the water and checked the sauce and made sure the orichette he'd made a few days ago was still good. 

He stopped and put his head down and breathed through his nose, measured breaths so he didn't try and kill someone. He'd learned that from his mother, too.  


* * *

Justin hadn't said anything yet, not a word, so JC had no idea what had happened or where he'd been. But he smelled of bar and sex and underneath of blood and sweat, and JC could make some good guesses. He wondered what Chris would say if he called him right now. He had to remind himself of benefit of the doubt. 

Joey came in with something that smelled delicious and placed the bowl in front of Justin. Justin noticed, picked up the fork he was given, and ate a few bites. Then he stopped and looked right into JC's eyes, recognized him for maybe the first time since he arrived. "I hit him, JC," he said, wrapping his arms tight around his middle, voice a rasp. And then he went ashen and bent over, vomiting up everything he'd just eaten. 

For a moment they froze, and then Joey pulled off his apron and JC wrapped an arm around Justin, who shuddered at the touch and then went soft against his side, still bent, tears leaking out from tight-closed eyes.

"Baby," said JC, and held him a minute, two, then got him up and moving down the hall to the bathroom.  


* * *

In the shower, Justin was pliant, did everything he was told, and JC washed away the smells and the dirt until only the bruises remained. There were dark ones and yellowed ones, fading back to the color of his skin, and a few newer ones angry red at the center. Other new ones dotted his hips, fingerprint-shaped, and JC was angry, so angry, at those above all others, that a lover could mark him the way his father had. He was gentle over those, trying not to hurt. 

When they stepped out, JC wrapped Justin in a towel and pushed him gently into JC's bedroom. He dressed him in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and when he was done Justin curled up on the bed, curled in on himself. He was almost fetal when Lauren knocked on the door with tea. JC sat next to him and pet his head, and sipped too-hot tea, bitter on his tongue. His mouth was burnt and he was glad because it made him keep it shut.  


* * *

It was dark when Justin woke, and he uncurled just enough to see if he was alone before curling up again. But he slipped his hands under the blankets piled high and the clothes that smelled like JC, and his fingers went to the bruises on his hips. If he pushed hard enough he could remember, remember... He slipped his hands away, up, to a larger bruise on his chest, probably a brilliant purple now. Just running his fingers over it made it ache. He pushed them hard against it, and his breath caught and there were tears in his eyes. He wondered if Chris' nose were broken and he choked on bile. 'At least,' he thought, 'he has something to remember me by' 

It was JC who heard the gagging and held his head as he heaved over a trashcan, bile burning his throat. "I wish," he told JC, "that he left me something permanent, too." 

JC looked worried, but Justin was too tired to figure out what was wrong. He sipped some water and then sank down into sleep again.  
  
  



End file.
